


I Come Back to the Place You Are

by Jay Auris (nighthawkms)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Abuse of Peter Gabriel songs, Bisexual Eddie Kaspbrak, Character Death Fix, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak is a BAMF, Fix-It, Fuck your tragic gay love story, Gay Richie Tozier, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Metaphors for the Queer Experience, Pennywise is not a good ally, Period-Typical Homophobia, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier Will Not Shut Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 20:24:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21021749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighthawkms/pseuds/Jay%20Auris
Summary: Richie and Eddie go through the Scary door, and are forced to confront the fears they've avoided for twenty-seven years.





	I Come Back to the Place You Are

**Author's Note:**

> So I fell deep down the Reddie hole and I refuse to entertain the notion that their story did not end happily. Here is the result.

_All my instincts, they return_

_And the grand facade, so soon will burn_

_Without a noise, without my pride_

_I reach out from the inside_

The thing of it is, Eddie actually used to _like_ clowns.

When he was very small, before his father passed, before his mother's suffocating Munchausen By Proxy destroyed any sense of responsible parenting, he remembers them taking him to amusement parks. The genial clowns of ages two through five had faces painted with golden stars and pink-circle cheeks, rainbow-colored costumes that hid endless scarves and water pistol flowers, and bulbous red noses that squeaked when squeezed. There was no threat of razor sharp teeth sinking into your flesh, or lifeless eyes invading your dreams, and all their limbs stayed fucking _proportional_.

Even after this, in the gap-toothed time between Eddie's home becoming hell on Earth and Georgie's disappearance, the annual Derry carnival brought one week of that sweet-same joy, splitting funnel cakes with Bill and Stan and Richie while under-paid carnies twisted complicated balloon animals for twenty-five cents a pop. Eddie remembers a faded photograph that still sits tucked in a shoebox at home: a fuzzy Kodak shot all four of them posing in front of the Fireball, wearing flower-topped balloon hats, Eddie's face mid-grimace as Richie performs a perfectly-timed wet willy.

Thirty years later, and as he stares at the bright red wiener dog balloon sitting on the floor of the tunnel ahead, suspiciously lit by a hole in the ceiling, all Eddie can think is, _this fucking clown._

The clearly laid trap lies behind the door marked _Scary_ (_Very Scary_ and _Not Scary at All_ had not led anywhere helpful. Also, Eddie will never be able to see a Pomeranian ever again without clenching). The balloon dog is harmless looking, but also, it will probably, like, explode with bees or fire or something if they approach it.

_Fuck_ that. Eddie's not stupid. Not after the fucking Pomeranian.

"I say we charge it," Richie hisses, his nails digging into Eddie's forearm. His eyes are wide, manic, his sewer-wet hair skewed across his forehead, his whole frame a twitchy mess. Eddie's still mad that he finds it- dear fucking _God_\- attractive. Twenty seven years later and Richie's gone from looking like a prepubescent Disney Chicken Little to a stallion trapped on an ice floe; all limbs and incapable of controlling them. "Or you could throw that spike at it."

"That's such a stupid idea, of course you fucking say that," Eddie retorts. "There are worse things down here, I'm not wasting my only weapon on a fucking balloon animal."

"Well it's in our way, and the horrifying hentai tentacle-monster behind us isn't looking like a great option, Eds!"

"I know that, okay! You don't think I know that? Look, maybe we should try the first door again; legs can't be that hard to fight, can they?"

"Are you kidding? Those high kicks are in perfect nut-shot range. I refuse to get taken out in the most hilarious way possible."

"Fine, fuck it!" Eddie snaps, gripping the fence spike in both hands like a baseball bat. What he says is: "Stay behind me. I'll hit it if it moves, I guess." What he means is: _I guess it's a fucking possibility that this spike and that balloon animal will somehow co-exist in the same space if I swing in that general direction. Don't count on it though. I always got picked last for wiffle ball in gym class for a reason._

"My knight in shining armor," Richie quips. "You going to deflower me once we get back to the castle? I promise I'm a virgin, it's not a sin if you don't put it in, right?"

Eddie flips him off. Leave it to Richie to be cracking jokes at a time like this. 

It's less of a charge and more of a cautious, jittery jog as they head through the door. The other side of the tunnel looks no different, but the corridor bends sharply to the right. Eddie keeps his eyes locked on the balloon animal as they approach, and preemptive slams the tip of the spike into the latex as they overtake it. It lets out a pathetic wheezing sound and flies up, zooming down the corridor.

"How likely do you think doing that actually killed Pennywise for good?" Richie asks. "Like, eighty-five percent? Ninety?"

"Oh, yeah, completely. Let's just fuck off back to Derry right now. I think we can still make happy hour at the bar."

"Look, I'm trying to be optimistic. At least if I die, I'll never have to look at a quinoa salad or kale smoothie for the rest of my life. Fucking LA, man."

They continue down the hallway, which remains suspiciously quiet and not trying to murder them. Eddie can't hear anyone off in the distance; they lost track of the other Losers ages ago, and Eddie really hopes the other four can handle themselves.

Richie tightens his grip on Eddie's forearm when they near the bend. He'd appreciate the point of contact if he wasn't terrified; having Richie there should be comforting, but instead it just works an insistent knot in the pit of his stomach, the fear that if one of them doesn't survive, it will be Richie. God knows Eddie's had his fair share of near death experiences, but Richie has always had a way of opening his mouth and causing his own downfall, and wouldn't it be some cruel form of irony if he went and got himself killed doing it?

Richie, Eddie thinks, isn't allowed to die. The fucking universe would not survive that amount of chaos being ejected out into the ether.

They inch their way around the corner in case any horrifying monsters decide to jump out at them. There's no boogeyman on the other side, only a short tunnel that splits in a perfect Y shape. The two new corridors are long and dark and there's no end in sight. Nothing about either of them indicates one is a better path.

Richie muses, "You know, I think I read a poem about this one time. _Two roads diverged in a tunnel, and I, I took the one less traveled by, and got eaten by an alien space clown._ I think that's how it goes."

"Jesus, no wonder your manager doesn't let you write your own material."

"Fuck you, dude. I'm Robert fucking Frost compared to you. You wanna rehash that poetry assignment from sixth grade? The one where you rhymed plaid with... hold on a second... plaid?"

"Sorry, you're right, let me correct myself. You can beat twelve year old me at creative writing. I forgot that's the demographic you cater to."

"Eds," Richie says, breaking into a smile, the one that used to clear the clouds from Eddie's rainy heart. "I fucking missed you."

"Don't call me that," Eddie grumbles, biting back a matching smile and glancing behind them. "We could go back. Maybe Pennywise isn't following us anymore."

Richie nods sagely. "Oh, yeah, hopefully he's moved on to more important things like mutilating Bill or drowning Mike."

Eddie rolls his eyes, and then proceeds back down the tunnel they came from. Richie follows, but they go no more than a few feet before they're met with an impassable rock wall; the path behind them has disappeared and there's no way to go back.

"_Fuck,_" Eddie curses. Just perfect.

Richie makes a _hrmmm_ noise and then says, "Okay, it's your turn to decide where we go. I at least got us this far without dying horribly."

Eddie stares at him. "_You_ got us this far? That's fucking hilarious, that's the one funny joke you've told since we got back to Derry. Try again."

"No, this is happening. Just let it happen." Richie pats Eddie on the shoulder, affecting an elderly voice and an unnaturally solemn look. "_I pass the mantle on to you, my son. Make your mother and I proud_."

"Oh my god," Eddie groans. "Maybe I should ask the clown to just eat me now. Jokes about my mom were the one thing about you I didn't miss."

"The one thing, huh? So you liked everything else?"

"Shut up," Eddie says. He turns away. Not because he's blushing, no- and even if he was, there's no way Richie could see it in such a dimly lit corridor.

He studies the tunnels one more time. There are literally no discernible differences. Not a single creepy clown laugh or flickering light emanating from either one.

_Fuck it_, Eddie thinks, and he grabs Richie by the wrist and marches them down the left tunnel.

The beam of light from Eddie's flashlight shrinks and dims the farther they go. Fear prickles up the back of Eddie's neck as sweat slides down it. He hates the dark. It swallows you up, cloaks you like a suffocating blanket, leaves you shivering with the inability to anticipate danger, unable to analyze the risk. Darkness reminds you of the morbid truth: We are all alone within our own selves.

Myra insisted that the room be completely dark when they slept: blackout curtains, all electronics out of the bedroom, and certainly no small plug in night lights. All those studies, she said to Eddie, all about how people get the best sleep in completely dark rooms, and sleep is so vital for your health. Doesn't Eddie want to be healthy?

Eddie doesn't think he's had a decent night's sleep in ten years. Constant nightmares of a shadow you can't see and hands grasping for him aren't great for your health, either, but she never fucking seemed to get that, did she?

He doesn't realize he's breathing hard until Richie tugs his wrist out of Eddie's tight grip- but he doesn't pull away, just slides his fingers down to take Eddie's hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. "You okay?"

It helps, it really does, and Eddie wants to explain in extreme detail exactly how much it helps to have Richie holding his hand, by his side, back in his life- right up until the moment when Eddie hears a familiar chuckle, faint, but terrifying nonetheless.

"It's _here._ I heard It," Eddie hisses, swinging the flashlight left and right, seeing nothing before them but the empty tunnel. He lets go of Richie's hand and switches the fence spike from his left to his right, holding in front of him like a sword, taking a slight step forward.

"Are you sure?" Richie whispers. "I didn't hear anything."

"C'mon, where are you, ya fucking circus reject," Eddie mutters, taking another step. He's tired and terrified and pissed off and he's probably caught a thousand horrible diseases by now; he just wants to kill the clown and be done with the whole thing.

"Eddie," Richie says. "Wait a sec, maybe we should-"

There's an awful, _awful_ sound, then. When Eddie thinks back on this night, this moment is seared into his memory as the most terrifying, the moment when he heard the sound of Richie's rare cautious words being choked off in surprise. The one moment he's ever badly wished that Richie would keep talking.

Eddie whips around to see Richie frozen, staring at him, wide-eyed. His Adam's apple is bobbing up and down as he struggles to make a sound, but there's no way he can with a slimy, pulsing tentacle around his throat. He's straining towards Eddie, body bowed forward, shoulder held wide by two larger tentacles lashed around his arms, his feet digging into the earth as two more tentacles wind around his thighs.

Their eyes meet for one brief, horrible moment. He's going to die, Eddie thinks. Richie Tozier, his best friend, the love of his goddamn life is going to die right in front of him, and Eddie can't do a thing to stop it. Again.

Eddie doesn't even have time to scream Richie's name before he's gone, pulled back into the darkness of the hall behind him.

The shock quickly ends, and Eddie does scream then, "_RICHIE, NO!_" He lunges back the way they came, but only makes it a few feet before slamming into a stone wall. The passage back has become impenetrable.

"FUCK! FUCK NO!" Eddie yells, pounding his fists against the rock, even as his palms start to split and bleed. "YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT CLOWN, BRING HIM BACK! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!" No, no, no, this isn't happening, they were supposed to all be together, and Richie - stupid, reckless, carefree Richie, always making Eddie worry, because why couldn't he just stay still and safe? Why did he always have to run his mouth in front of Bowers and bullies and live like danger wasn't built into the bones of Derry? - Richie was always his responsibility, just like he was Richie's. It's just how they were. And now he's gone. 

Eddie whips around as the tunnel behind him illuminates in a bright pink glow. He's met with a bizarre sight; the tunnel's hewn rock walls change to sheet-metal ten feet down the corridor, and the floor cuts off to begin a checkerboard black and white linoleum. There are lamps bolted into the walls every few feet, disappearing around the curve of the tunnel. Hanging from the ceiling where the sheet-metal begins is a sign. Scrawled across it are big bold letters of a familiar handwriting, spelling out _Tunnel of LoVers_, with a hastily scribbled red V obscuring a lowercase S.

Finally, written across the floor in blood red streaks is this mocking sentence:

_You want him back, Eddie boy? Come and find him._

"Motherfucker," Eddie growls. "I'm gonna kill this fucking clown."

Cautiously, Eddie enters the tunnel, shaking with every step but forcing himself forward. Every few feet, old, dusty loudspeakers hang from the walls, and an eerie tune plays in the tunnel, echoing down the hall as Eddie walks. He tries to place it, because it's so familiar, like a slowed down, discordant version of a well-loved song. Something beautiful, twisted and made wrong.

It stops him in his tracks when he recognizes it, finally. _In Your Eyes._ The Peter Gabriel song. 

And suddenly he's remembering that summer, the seven of them sitting side by side in the movie theater, watching John Cusak raise a boom box over his head, and Richie's knee is pressed into his thigh, Richies's arm bumps his on the armrest. There's a growing warmth in the pit of Eddie's stomach and he's terrified and yearning all at once. He looks over and Richie is watching him and they meet eyes, and this is the moment Eddie stops feeling like a child, the first bloom of young love coupled with the stark understanding of what kind of town Derry is. A lifetime of caution prepares him to look away, because for all his hemming and hawing over keeping Richie safe, the greatest danger might be Eddie himself.

Eddie made a promise to himself, there in that theater, to get them out of Derry one day. Far away, somewhere their hands could meet in a crowded theater and joining them didn't feel like a possible death sentence. And they did escape, but without each other.

And now that fucking clown is throwing it in his face.

Around the first bend of the tunnel, he comes across a large framed portrait on the wall. It's of the Losers club, when they were younger, all smushed together in a photo booth. The picture is blown up and grainy, but he can recognize himself and Richie crowded in the back, tangled together and grinning. Someone has drawn a misshapen pink heart outline around their heads, with Cupid's arrow slicing cleanly through their skulls.

"The fuck?" Eddie mutters, keeping his eye on it as he moves past. The implications of that picture, in addition to the music and the name of the tunnel are twisting his stomach into knots. It knows how he feels about Richie; It has to. Fucking _shit._ He's gotta find Richie. 

When he turns the corridor, he jumps as the loudspeakers on the wall crackle to life and a harsh, inhuman breathing can be heard for a few moments before It chuckles.

"_Welcome, Eddie boy, welcome_!" It croaks, rasping. "_I'm so delighted you could join us! I know Richie is just_ dying_ to see you again_."

"Where is he?" Eddie yells, hefting the spike and proceeding cautiously. Nothing jumps out at him, and the corridor continues another fifty feet, making a left turn at the end.

"_Oh, don't worry about Richie,_" Pennywise giggles. He ends on a high-pitched wheeze and the lights flicker worryingly. "_He and I are just having a fun little reunion! Wanna hear_?"

"Hear what-" Eddie starts, before the loudspeaker crackles again, spitting and shrieking enough to make him cover his ears. When he uncovers them, Eddie can hear Richie.

"_Please_," Richie is begging desperately, practically crying, "don't- just, not him. L-look, you wanna feed, right? Just make it me, okay? I'm fine with that, you can eat and you can let him go, _please_-"

The clown shrieks with laughter and the speakers blow out. Eddie winces and raises his arms to cover his face as pieces of the speakers explode into the hallway. Despite this, the sound is as horrifyingly crisp and clear as ever. 

"_Oh, Richie,_ poor_ little Richie_," Pennywise laughs. "_Why would I do that? You'll taste so much better if you have to watch him_ die."

Eddie's blood freezes in his veins; whether it's at his own implied death, or the idea of Richie having to watch, he can't say. But there's a rumbling behind him, and Eddie doesn't have time to contemplate these feelings. Something is coming. Something _bad_.

Richie's voice crackles in his ears as he yells, "_EDDIE, RUN!_" but Eddie's already gone, launching off the ground, his flashlight beam casting wild shadows in the dark corridor ahead as the whole tunnel shakes. Rocks burst through the ceiling and he has to throw himself sideways to dodge them, stumbling and slamming into the wall. The action twists him around, long enough to see the tunnel twenty feet behind him collapsing into itself.

"FUCK!" Eddie yells and spins back around, sprinting ahead.

"STOP IT, STOP IT!" Richie is screaming, sobbing in terror, and Eddie is going to drive this spike straight through that clown's eye, he swears on everything good in this world. Nobody makes his Richie hurt that much and gets away with it. _No-fucking-body_.

"_He's going to die, Richie, and it's going to be all your fault_," Pennywise drawls. "_All your faaaaaault._"

"Fuck you, you lying asshole!" Eddie pants as he forces his burning legs to keep moving. "Richie, don't fucking listen to him!"

"No _no no no,_" Richie moans. "It isn't, it isn't, it-"

"_Of course it is!_" Pennywise giggles. "_It's why you're so scared, Richie! Scared that none of this would be happening if you'd just told him your dirty little secret, and now you'll never get to! Isn't that it, Richie? Hasn't that always been it?_"

What is he talking about? What secret? Richie never kept secrets from them, always brutally blunt to the point of obnoxiousness. It's got to be a lie. Richie wouldn't- he couldn't.

"Fuck you, you psychotic bitch!" Richie yells. "I'll fucking rip that dollar-store nose off your butt-ugly fa-"

Richie's voice cuts into a pained scream, and the lights flicker again as the speakers cut out.

"RICHIE!" Eddie yells. He keeps running, heart plummeting into his stomach. The wallpaper begins to peel in violent, twisted strips, as more rocks tear through the ceiling. The light fixtures on the walls flicker wildly and crash to the floor. Whatever illusion Pennywise has created, it's coming apart around Eddie.

One more turn and he can see a wide, open cavern at the end of the tunnel, practically glowing with safety and freedom. As he lunges out of the mouth of the tunnel, the last of the rock collapses inches from his head. He loses his footing and goes rolling across the floor, yelping in pain as his back slams into an outcropping of rock, finally bringing him to a halt.

"Fucking _shit_!" Eddie curses, gasping for the air that was just pushed out of his lungs. His body is screaming for him to stay down, rest, but he can't, he's got to keep moving. Got to find-

"_Richie!_" Eddie gasps when he opens his eyes.

About twenty feet away, Richie is pinned against the wall, arms bound high above his head by barbed wire that sprouts unnaturally from the rock. It twists around his torso, his legs, across his throat and his forehead. Blood trickles from dozens of cuts where the wire slices into his skin, and any shifting in attempt to pull away from a barb appears to dig the wire worse into another. Richie's head is bowed, expression contorted in pain, tears leaking from his eyes as desperate whimpers escape his throat.

Eddie scrambles up, picking up the fence spike from where it's landed next to him. "Richie, hold on, I'm gonna get you out of there, okay? Just stay-"

Eddie jumps back as a massive shape comes scuttling out of a hole in the wall above Richie's head, something with spindly legs and a round body that drops to the ground- wait, that's not a body. That's a head with legs attached. Stan's head, more specifically. Of course it is. Just when Eddie's day couldn't get any worse.

"Really?" Eddie groans as two more Stan spiders crawl out of holes and drop to the ground. They grin maliciously, lining up next to one another, and stand between Eddie and Richie, who remains worryingly still, eyes closed, seemingly unaware of the events proceeding in front of him.

"_Look who it is!_" Stan Head One screeches. "_Eddie Kaspbrak, the hero of Neibolt Drive!_"

"_Hero?_" Stan Head Two sneers. "_Nothing but a coward. Stood there and watched his best friend almost die._"

"Shut up!" Eddie growls, gripping the spike with two hands."That was before. I'm not doing that again!"

Stan Head Three cackles. "_Sure you won't_," it says, glassy eyes rolling endlessly in their sockets. "_Face it, Eddie Spaghetti. Even if you stopped us before, you won't this time. You've never been brave without your friends around to help you._"

"_Too bad for Richie_," Stan Head One says. "_He'll die thinking all of his friends abandoned him, just like he thought they would if they found out..._"

"Found out _what_?" Eddie yells. "Cut the 'secret' crap, would you just tell me already? Whatever Richie thinks he has to hide, he doesn't. It won't change how I- how any of us feel about him." Eddie glances at Richie, hoping maybe he'll hear this and react, but Richie doesn't move.

Stan Head Two clicks its tongue. "_I can't just go around telling everyone Richie's secret, can I?_"

"_Of course not,_" Stan Head Three hisses. "_That would be rude. Unforgivable._" Its mouth twists up, baring its sharp, pointed teeth in a facsimile of a smile. "_Although, it's not like he's always done a good job hiding it..._"

The other two Stan Heads break out into cruel laughter. "_Scratched it where no one would know!_" Stan Head One shouts. "_His shame, hidden in plain sight, with all the other desperate lovers!_"

Eddie is getting tired of this shit. He feels like he's trapped in some weird Greek myth, except instead of talking animals spouting riddles, it's a bunch of spiders made of human heads. Whatever Richie thinks he has to hide, Eddie's never going to find out with these things around.

"Get out of my way," Eddie snaps, stepping forwards. "Or I'll make you."

All of the spider heads dissolve into shrieking cackles, rolling around on the floor. "_He'll make us!_" screeches Stan Head Two. "_Brave words for a scared little boy!_"

Eddie knows they don't believe him. He knows they remember last time, when Eddie froze to the spot, and even Richie's pleading yells couldn't move him. Hell, maybe they're right. He's a coward, and he'll always be a coward. Maybe the Losers are better off without him.

But Richie said Eddie was braver than he thought. Richie believed in him- _believes_ in him. Even when Eddie didn't believe in himself.

So if not for himself, maybe, just maybe, Eddie can be brave for Richie.

"_Eat my steel rod_, you fuckers!" Eddie yells, and charges forwards. The heads, clearly assuming he won't try anything, don't have enough time to react. Eddie slams the spike straight through the center of the first one. He lifts it up and swings it into the second spider, sending it flying across the room.

The third spider shrieks angrily and lunges for Eddie's face. He just barely manages to block it with the first spider, which is still stuck fast to the spike. The first and third spider's legs get tangled up, flailing and twisting so much that Eddie almost loses his grip on the spike. But he doesn't, and with a surge of righteous fury, he lifts the load up and slams it into the ground, over and over, screaming in anger and frustration and fear and release.

He doesn't stop until the spiders stop moving, beaten into a messy pulp, the gruesome remains splattered all over Eddie's shirt and pants.

Eddie turns to see the one remaining spider, who crouches in the corner, hissing and spitting as Eddie puts his foot on the pulpy mess and yanks the spike back out.

"You wanna be next, buddy?" Eddy threatens, waving the spike at the spider head. It gives him one more furious hiss and scuttles back up the wall and into a hole, out of sight.

Eddie doesn't hesitate, running across the room and letting the spike clatter to the floor as he cups Richie's face gently. "Richie, hey, you still with us, Trashmouth?"

Richie twitches, opening his eyes, blinking and scanning Eddie's face as he slowly comes back to himself. "Eddie..." Richie says, wincing as the barbed wire cuts into his throat. "Thought you were dead."

"Well lucky for you, dipshit, cause I'm not. Now don't move, and stop talking," Eddie chides, his tone softening. "I'll get you out of this, okay?"

"Y-you can't," Richie whimpers, the barbs lining his throat pressing pinprick holes into his skin. Still talking like an idiot, never able to shut up. Will he ever listen? "It's- it's my own thing. Can't help me."

"Bullshit!" Eddie snaps. He gently slips a hand underneath a portion of the wire around Richie's throat, pulling it away so Richie can take a deeper breath and speak without hurting himself any farther. "See? I can so help you. If you hold on, I can figure out a way to break this stuff." Maybe the spike is sharp enough to cut through the wire? Or he could try to rip out one of those sharp teeth from the remains of the spiders.

"No. You don't get it," Richie mumbles. He hisses as a barb digs into the skin above his eye, a thin line of blood trickling down. Eddie reaches up without a thought, catching it with his thumb before it leaks into Richie's eye. It's only after he does it that he realizes he should be disgusted, touching someone else's blood. But he doesn't have the energy to be freaked out, not with Richie in this state.

"Then explain it to me," Eddie prompts. "Please, Richie. You're my best friend, you can trust me."

"Fuck... okay," Richie mutters. "The wire, it's, like, psychological, I think. Death of a thousand cuts. Fucking nightmare clown metaphor for my internal struggle."

Eddie frowns. "Internal struggle? Is this that secret thing they were talking about?"

Richie looks down, avoiding Eddie's questioning gaze. 

"So it is," Eddie says.

"You, uh. Heard?" Richie asks. He sounds so afraid. It breaks Eddie's heart.

"I heard some," Eddie says, nodding. "Enough to know that whatever it is, Pennywise is using it against you."

"So... you just know I have a secret," Richie clarifies. "Not what it is?"

Eddie scowls. "No, but frankly, whatever it is, it's not as bad as you think. You can tell me."

Richie shakes his head. "I can't, Eds. It'll change how you guys see me. It'll change _us,_ and I really need that stability in my life right now."

"Hate to break it to you, Trashmouth, but you can't worry about stability if you're _dead at the bottom of a sewer_," Eddie explains, patiently, like Richie is a very, very stupid person. Which he is sometimes, but Eddie still loves him anyway. "Besides, I already see you as a neurotic, oblivious, disaster of a person, so I doubt it can get much worse." He grins, chucking Richie under the chin gently. Worryingly, Richie doesn't smile back, and still doesn't look at him. "Come on, Richie. Let it out. You won't break us, I promise. Please?"

Richie swallows, glancing upwards for a minute and muttering _stupid fucking clown_ under his breath before finally, finally meeting Eddie's eyes. "So.. remember that time you found a sticky copy of _Men's Health_ under my bed and I told you my cousin Gene had left it when his family visited and he slept in my room?"

The reference is so obscure that Eddie needs a moment to unlock that memory. But yes, he feels like it's true, something he vaguely remembers.

"Let's go with yes," Eddie says, nodding.

"Well... that was a lie. It's wasn't Gene's. It- it was mine."

It takes exactly .02 milliseconds for Eddie to understand. He gasps a little, and Richie winces and looks away; shit, Eddie probably just confirmed Richie's worst fears, and he wasn't trying to! It's just that after all this time, to know that he wasn't alone- that he wasn't the only queer kid in Derry, afraid of people finding out, but at the same time, so badly wanting his friends to accept him for who he was- is such a relief.

"So," Eddie asks. "Then... Gay? Bi? Pan? How do you identify? I don't wanna assume."

Richie's mouth pops open, and he says nothing, staring at Eddie.

"What?" Eddie shrugs. "Did you expect me to be some asshole homophobe? I live in New York, Rich. _New York_."

"Doesn't mean anything," Richie grumbles, clearly annoyed that Eddie is taking this all in stride. "Plenty of bigots in the big cities. Not that I thought you were. I- I just..."

"Just what?" Eddie asks.

"Doesn't it change things?" Richie asks. "About how you look at me? Fuck, Eds, how can it not?"

"Again, you're already a walking disaster," Eddie teases. "Now you're just a gay walking disaster. Or bi, or pan- which is it?"

"I'm gay," Richie confirms. "I like dudes exclusively."

Eddie nods. He takes a deep breath, and decides to be brave again. "Besides... I'd be a pretty big hypocrite, if you being queer made me think of you any differently."

Richie's eyes go wide like dinner plates. "Oh my _god_," he breathes. "You mean-"

"Yeah," Eddie says, nodding. "You're not the only one with secrets, Trashmouth."

"You asshole," Richie laughs, "winding me up. You couldn't have lead with that bit of informa- shit!"

Richie stumbles forward, no longer held back by the barbed wire, which has vanished into thin air. Eddie catches him around the waist, steadying him.

"You okay?" Eddie asks, but there's really no need; the cuts and dripping blood have vanished, leaving Richie's skin smooth, unmarked.

"Yeah. I stopped worrying that I'd lose you- all. All of you. Guess that did the trick. God damn it," Richie says. "That clown is fucking homophobic. Outing me on purpose."

Eddie smirks. "Who knew an evil space clown wouldn't be a good ally to the gays?"

Richie laughs, his breath ghosting across Eddie's cheeks, and Eddie realizes in that moment how close they are, and Richie's mouth is right _there_, and God, Eddie just wants to lean in and...

"Eds?" Richie murmurs. He's looking at Eddie curiously. "We, y'know, we should probably. Go help the others."

"Right. Absolutely." Eddie forces himself to pull away, definitely not blushing. He spots a path to the right out of the cavern, and he can see the edges of those spiky rock formations from Pennywise's lair at the end.

"Come on, Richie," Eddie says, working up the courage to take Richie's hand. "Like you said. Let's go kill that fucking clown."

~

They fight It. 

Eddie saves Richie from the dead lights, and Richie saves Eddie from being speared through the gut by a claw.

Eventually, they figure out what to do, and when the monster is dead, when the walls begin to collapse around them and they flee, Eddie is by Richie's side the whole way out.

The house on Neibolt falls into the Earth, and it's over. The Losers are left panting, covered in dirt and filth on the street outside.

They all look at each other, and without any words, make their way to the reservoir and dive in.

Eddie is too bone tired and happy that they survived to care about what's in the water- a first. He floats on the surface, keeping close to the rock Richie sits on, and enjoys the quiet comfort of knowing all his friends are with him, and are safe, and alive.

Well, almost all. Rest in peace, Stan.

The sun is bright overhead, and Eddie keeps his eyes closed, listening to the breezy, light conversation of his friends. When he does peek an eye open, Richie is always looking at him, like he thinks if he doesn't, Eddie will float away forever.

"Hey," Eddie says after the fourth time this happens. He glances around to make sure the others are far enough away, and mutters, "you should tell them too."

"I know," Richie murmurs back. "I gotta work my way up to it though."

"Can it be any harder than what happened with me?" Eddie counters. "No murder clown forcing you to do it because of life or death scenarios. Tell you, what, if you do it, then I will too."

"Yeah... yeah. Okay. You're right. Hey guys?" Richie shouts. Four heads turn expectantly. "I'm like, super gay. Just thought I'd clear that up. Y'know, in case anyone was wondering."

Mike gives Richie a thumbs up. "Thanks for telling us, Richie. Glad you feel like you can." Bill, Bev and Ben all nod in agreement, smiling at him.

"Are you telling us this because you want to introduce us to your boyfriend?" Ben asks. "You didn't have to prep us, you could have just brought him the next time we meet up."

"Ah, hah hah, no, not it, but I appreciate the encouragement, Benjamino," Richie replies. "No one has yet had the opportunity to claim this hot bod."

"Any g-guy would b-be lucky to s-snag you, Rich," Bill says, grinning at him.

If Eddie feels any kind of way about that, he's not going to acknowledge it yet. Instead, he raises his hand, waving it. "Hey, you know if anyone was wondering, I'm also queer."

"Stop trying to steal Richie's thunder, Kaspbrak," Bev says. "We all knew that."

"Excuse- you _what_?" Eddie shrieks, flailing in the water as he sits up.

"Yeah, man, since the day I met you," Mike says, shrugging.

"When you said you had a wife, I was honestly shocked," Ben says. "Bill owes me, like, 50 bucks."

"I th-thought you might be b-bisexual," Bill admits.

"I AM!" Eddie yells, twisting around when he hears Richie begin to cackle. "What are _you_ laughing at?!"

"How did I not know?" Richie wheezes, holding himself, bent over. "Oh my god, I'm a moron, _it's so fucking obvious!"_

"Oh, _fuck you_," Eddie says, and he grabs Richie around the chest and throws him into the water, laughing at the high-pitched shriek Richie lets out. A second later and Eddie gets an armful of water splashed in his face.

The rest of the Losers descend immediately, breaking out into a chaotic water fight. Their laughter rings up around the reservoir, sounding like a new beginning.

~

Something bothers Eddie all through the night, while they're partying and consuming every single drop of the Derry house's alcohol cabinet, through into the morning when he wakes up and has a sudden flash of realization. He stumbles out of bed, cursing the hangover pounding through his skulls, jerks on his clothes, and runs out the door like a bat out of hell.

He's not sure why he's rushing. It isn't as though what he's looking for is likely to disappear between now and ten minutes from now. But it feels like he's waited twenty-seven years to figure something out, and he doesn't want to waste more time.

He drives until he finds the spot he's looking for. A quick inspection confirms his suspicion, and he stares at his discovery for a long while before feeling his phone buzz. When he pulls it out, it's from Richie.

_where'd you run off to? we were gonna go get breakfast from the diner on main street_

**_I needed to check something out_****,** he types back. He pauses, considers, then adds, **_You should come by for a bit._**

_what's the address?_

Eddie shoots off his location and then leans back against a nearby wooden pole, sliding down it to sit on the ground. He's still sitting there, lost in thought, when Richie's car rumbles over the wooden plans of Derry's Kissing Bridge ten minutes later, coming to a stop behind Eddie's car.

"Eds?" Richie calls out.

"Here," Eddie replies. "Front of the car."

Richie appears above him, frowning. "Why here?"

"I don't think you heard, yesterday," Eddie says, motioning up towards a particular spot on the long, thick wooden planks of the bridge railing to his right. "One of those stupid spider heads mentioned that you couldn't keep everything a secret. You 'scratched it in plain sight' or something. I thought about it all night and I guess it's funny how the mind compiles shit when you're asleep because when I woke- Richie? You okay?"

"Sure. Sure. Just- just fine," Richie is hyperventilating in front of him, clearly _not_ fine. Eddie would offer his inhaler, but for once in his life, he doesn't have one to provide.

Eddie watches as Richie reaches out, smoothing his fingers across the worn, faded letters carved into the wooden plank. _R+E._ Richie and Eddie. It's so obvious now, standing out from the rest of the carvings, that Eddie will never not be able to see it there whenever he passes.

Richie lets out a strained laugh. "You finding this was a primal fear for multiple years of my childhood. And now it's just- out in the open. No more fucking secrets..." He looks like he's tempted to make a mad dash back to the car.

"Are you thinking about running away right now?" Eddie asks. "That's a dumb idea. You're literally famous. I could find you so easily, man."

"I could grow a mustache," Richie quips. "Besides, I'm not _that_ famous, Eds. A few plane flights halfway around the world and I could make a killing on the Chinese comedy circuit. Just gotta learn Mandarin."

Eddie sighs and pats the wooden planks next to him. "Would you calm down and sit, please? You're too fucking tall and the sun is right behind your head. I would say I feel like I'm staring up at Jesus except I don't need to inflate your ego anymore."

"He's not nearly as roguishly handsome as me," Richie says. He sighs and flops down next to Eddie, knees up, resting his hands on them. He stares across the bridge, pointedly not looking at Eddie. "See, this is what I was really worried about. Now you know, and everything between us is gonna feel weird and awkward. We'll go back to our lives and if we still remember each other we'll talk in the group chats and see each other at meetups and maybe holidays, but it'll always be in the group, never just you and me."

Richie swallows, rubbing a hand over his eyes, voice turning pained. "And I don't want that, Eds. You're my best friend, you always have been, even if I didn't remember you for twenty-seven years. I can't just go back to not having that. And everything I felt about you got buried when I left Derry, but it's back and just as strong. I know you're married and it's not fair to you, but it feels so _fucking_ unfair to me too. But look, I'll ignore it if you tell me to, even though it'll fucking suck, but I need you in my life, Eds, I-"

"Trashmouth," Eddie interrupts. He reaches over, cupping Richie's face and turning it to look at Eddie. "Just- Shut up. For once."

And then Eddie leans over and kisses him. Briefly, gently, just the barest brush of lips. Just so he understands.

Eddie pulls back. Richie is staring at him, befuddled as ever.

"I'm leaving my wife, Richie," Eddie explains, his voice soft and gentle, trying to keep Richie from getting any more skittish. "After everything I've been through, I can't fucking go back to that life. It's done with. It's over. As for us... well, your problem was presuming you were the only one who felt this way. And you're not."

"Uhh..." Richie says, stupidly. "What?"

Eddie rests his forehead against Richie's. It feels like a dangerous move. It also feels like the safest place he could be.

"I don't just want group chats and occasional holidays," Eddie says. "I want seven days a week, three-sixty-five a year. I want you to be the first person I see when I wake up and the last person I see when I fall asleep, and all that corny rom-com shit. I want every day with you, If you'll put up with me."

Richie sucks in a reedy breath and pulls back, rubbing his eyes. "Hold the fuck on," he says. "Shouldn't I be asking you to put up with me? I don't get this. This isn't how it was supposed to go."

Eddie frowns. "How was it supposed to go?"

"Well, the hope was you would never find out, but on the off chance you did, it was supposed to be a surprisingly gentle 'I'm-just-not-into-you-that-way' rejection speech and then me getting blackout drunk and avoiding you for a month and then refusing to talk about it."

"I never would've let you avoid me for a month," Eddie retorts. "Three days in, I would've been banging on your window, demanding to be let in before I fell and broke every bone in my body."

Richie snorts. "You really would've been Eddie Spaghetti then." His smile falls, and the anxious crease of his brow returns. "So, are you really saying what I hope you're saying?"

Eddie smiles. "If you hope I'm saying that I'm following you back to LA and never letting you out of my sight ever again, then yes."

"Hey, no rash decisions here, Eds," Richie says. He clasps Eddie's hands in his own, squeezing them. "I mean, I'm not opposed to New York. Plenty of opportunities for a semi-famous hack comedian."

"I have one condition, though," Eddie says. "Stop using other people's material. You're a fucking funny guy, Rich. Do your own shit."

"Fine," Richie says, nodding. "Then you need to workshop it with me. It's only going in the act if it makes you laugh."

"So an hour of silence then, got it."

"You _just_ said I was funny! Make a decision, am I dried up or the next Mulaney?"

"Mulany wishes he was the next Tozier," Eddie agrees, and Richie smiles and leans in, initiating the next kiss.

They stay a while longer, with plenty of activity to keep themselves occupied. It's called the Kissing Bridge for a reason, after all. Might as well live up to the name.

**Author's Note:**

> PS. Richie says "Make your mother and I proud" in the voice Bill Hader uses for Stefon saying "Your mother and I are divorcing." This is the only acceptable way to read this line. Fight me I'm the author damn it.
> 
> Find me on twitter and tumblr @nighthawkms


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